From Hell
by ink-addict
Summary: I think I've watched too much Law and Order over the last year or so. A homicide investigation is underway in Domino City, and it's a race against time to find the killer before he strikes again. Warnings: graphic violence, language.
1. Chapter 1

Man, I wish they had Law and Order reruns on TV here. I'm really not a TV addict at all, but I did rather like the show and its multiple spinoffs. There was one spinoff I didn't like as much, but I can't remember the name. Not that that's important in any way. The point here is that I was in the mood to write some drama/suspense/mystery. Voila – I bring you this fic. Idea is mine, characters are not. Zat eez all.

Onward and upward, then!

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"Malik, not so much!"

In response, Malik Ishtar laughed, pushing the glass of champagne toward his sister. "C'mon…you're no fun," he said, mock-pouting.

Isis reached for the tall glass, her slender fingers wrapping around the stem as she shot a look at her younger brother. "There is a difference," she said coolly, "between being no fun and being sensible, Malik."

Malik rolled his eyes at that. "Uh, huh. Right." He refilled his own champagne glass, his eyes perhaps a bit too bright; alcohol seemed to affect him rather quickly for some reason. "Anyway," he said, putting the bottle down, "you should have at least some champagne – this is a special occasion."

"That's true," Isis conceded calmly, then turned to smile warmly at her other brother. "A toast, then. Here's to your promotion, Rishid. Congratulations!" She smiled, blue eyes sparkling, as Rishid lifted his own glass.

"Thank you, sister."

Malik lifted his glass, which was nearly empty again. "Congratulations, Rishid!" He struck a pose. "Lieutenant Rishid Ishtar, homicide investigator extraordinaire!"

Now it was Rishid's turn to roll his eyes. "Thank you, Malik" he said dryly, smiling good naturedly. "I hope I can live up to the title."

"You will," Isis said, taking a small sip from her champagne flute. "I'm sure of it."

Malik grinned, flipping a white-blond strand of hair out his eyes. "I'll drink to that!"

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_Wednesday, 9:32 a.m_.

Hiroto Honda pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the immense headache he could feel building in the back of his head. _Dammit. It's not even noon yet_. For the most part, he felt that he handled the stress of his cases well. A little focus, a little caffeine…well, OK, a _lot_ of caffeine, but the point was that cases usually didn't get to him.

This one, however, was different. He had joined the crime scene investigation team three years ago, and he had seen some pretty gruesome things in his time. The details of this case, however, were somehow a little more gruesome, a little more disturbing…almost more…more…well, evil, if he had to choose a word for it.

It was a serial killer. That much they knew for sure. Always the same kind of girls, always the same kind of weapon. Always the same frustrating ability to slip under the radar and disappear when police began investigating.

"Honda-san! Can you get a photo here?"

Honda looked to where one of his colleagues was pointing. "Sure," he said, stepping carefully through the crime scene to document the case.

Focused on the job at hand, Honda impassively but thoroughly snapped away. The girl was lying at that awkward angle that many dead seemed to assume, her mouth still open slightly.

"She was pretty, wasn't she?"

Honda nodded. Was_ is the key word there_. The girl's face was fair, but her body bore the long slashes of a sharp blade. Her arms were in bloody shreds; more long, dark lines of blood crossed her thighs, her abdomen, and over her ribs.

_He tortures them to death_, Honda thought distantly, kneeling to get a better angle. He didn't know why he assumed the killer was a he. _I gotta stop reading the paper_. The local newspapers, and now even some national ones, had begun to talk about the killer as "he". Some idiot local reporter had even gone so far as to make a comparison to Jack the Ripper. _Damn press._

Sighing, Honda stood up, brushing the dust from his pants. The headache was making its way to his temples by the point. Might be time for some more coffee.

He began packing away the camera, frowning slightly in thought. This girl was the fourth victim. The _fourth_. He shook his head slightly. _Whoever this guy is, I hope we find him. Soon._

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_Tuesday, 10:47 a.m._

Rishid Ishtar looked at the new manila folder on his desk, frowning slightly. He knew immediately what it was – more on the serial killer case. Probably about the young woman they had found last week early one morning. On one hand, every time the killer struck there was the possibility of finding another shred of evidence to go on. On the other hand…

_On the other hand, the last thing we need is another murder._

Rishid opened the folder, focusing on the task at hand. He flipped through the routine forms, running a hand over his head thoughtfully. Nothing new, really. Victim late teens, early twenties. A prostitute – part of the underworld since her mother had last seen her five years ago. A runaway, evidently. Time of death estimated to have been between two and four a.m. The autopsy wasn't complete, but cause of death appeared seemed to be multiple stab wounds and the blood loss that ensued.

Finally, Rishid flipped to the photographs. A blurry photo taken about six years ago showed a girl smiling slightly, almost shyly into the camera. The next few photos were decidedly less pleasant: the girl lying among dead leaves in the park, body twisted, mouth open in a silent scream.

Rishid hated this part – he had already known more about pain and death than he had ever wanted to, even before he took this job. Nevertheless, the photos had to be looked at, had to be examined; he found it was often his eye for detail that helped him make headway on a case.

At first, he scanned the picture impassively, his eyes taking in the knife wounds, the torn clothing, the way her body was bent. He noted the ground where she was lying – it certainly looked like there had been a struggle. The murderer must have done his work there, not killed the girl elsewhere and dragged her body into the woods.

Rishid sighed, rubbing at his eyes. So far there was nothing unusual, nothing leaping out at him. Nothing…

His less than fruitful musings were interrupted by the ringing of his telephone. He picked up on the second ring. "Rishid Ishtar."

"Ishtar, good." It was Captain Sumeragi. "Listen, there's been a little development here…"

Rishid switched the phone to his left ear, reaching for pen and paper. "Go ahead."

"I got a call from Honda-san about ten minutes ago. Seems like our serial killer's struck again. Only this time, he's made a mistake."

"Oh?" Rishid paused, pen in midair. "What sort of mistake?"

"An enormous mistake," the captain said. "It's the victim…she's still alive."

Ooh! Chapter one, fini! I'll hopefully have more up in a day or two!

Review if you'd like. I know I'd like it : )


	2. Chapter 2

Ah, yes. Another chapter…IT LIVES::cackles: Ahem. Yes. On with the fic, then, shall we?

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The local general hospital was small, but overall quite nice. Still, Rishid couldn't help the feeling of uneasiness he got when walking down the hallway. He had never cared too much for hospitals, or even doctors for that matter. One time when he was seriously ill Isis had had to practically drag him to the emergency room. It had been an altogether unpleasant and somewhat humiliating experience; he had spent that morning dizzy and sick with fever, enduring Isis's fussing and fielding some awkward questions from the doctors about the scars on his back. All in all it was an experience Rishid preferred not to think about.

He shook his head slightly, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind. What he needed to focus on now was the interview he was about to conduct.

_2610…2611…ah. 2612_. Pausing a minute to make sure he had the right room, Rishid knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Rishid pushed the door open cautiously. "Hello?" He stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him.

He immediately noticed two other women sitting in the room. One of them, a tall blonde with a slightly hostile air, stood up quickly, hands on her hips. She looked him right in the eye.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"Lieutenant Rishid Ishtar, homicide investigator." He held out his identification. "I'm here to speak with Miss Shizuka Jounouchi."

The blonde narrowed her eyes at him. Behind her, a thin girl with short brown hair sat in a plastic chair, chewing nervously at her fingernails.

Rishid waited patiently.

"Shizuka!" the blonde said, her eyes still trained on the Egyptian man. "You know this guy?"

From the bed in the corner, a small pale figure turned to face him. Her hazel eyes studied him for a moment. The room was absolutely silent, save the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights. "Never seen him before," she mumbled finally.

"I'm with the police," he repeated. "If it's alright with you I'd like to ask you a few questions."

The three women exchanged glances. There was another moment of silence before the blonde nodded; apparently a decision had been made.

"OK," Shizuka Jounouchi said. "If it's quick."

Rishid nodded, and the other two women began to move toward the door. "If he gives you any trouble, hon, just call me." The brunette nodded in agreement, drifting like a shadow behind the protective aura her taller companion created.

From her bed, Shizuka nodded, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders.

"Later, hon," the blonde said. And they were gone.

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The ever-present buzz of the fluorescent lights became apparent again as silence fell over the room.

"Mind if I sit?" Rishid asked, reaching for a chair when the girl shook her head. He knew some people found his height intimidating, and he found that interviews generally went more smoothly when he was seated. "So," he said, settling into the chair, "were those friends of yours? Relatives?"

"Friends." A wry smile crossed her face. "Colleagues, too, I guess you could say."

"Oh? How's that?"

"We have the same job; we work in the same place," she said, speaking slowly as if she were explaining to a five year old.

"I see," he said, unfazed. "What kind of work are you involved in, if I might ask?"

Her lips became a thin line as she stared at him, eyes cold and blank. "What do you think, Detective?"

He blinked, slightly confused by her offended manner. "I'm sorry?"

She stared at him a moment longer before answering. "I'm a whore." Her eyes dared him to comment on that fact.

Rishid merely nodded slightly. "Were you attacked while you were working, then?"

The girl chewed her lip thoughtfully. There was no trace of mockery in the man's questions. She decided to relax slightly – playing the offensive was always tiring. "Yeah, I was working when it happened."

Rishid nodded again, unobtrusively flipping open a small notepad. "Do you think maybe you could describe it in more detail? Where were you at the time?"

Shizuka Jounouchi focused her gaze on the bed railing at her side. "Where was I…?" she murmured to herself…

She was in hell.

The pain from the knife was relentless, her torturer dragging the sharp blade in lines of liquid pain over her ribs, her thighs, her arms. She screamed and screamed, but it did nothing to stop the pain.

_God…please_… Light hair fell on her chest as the man paused to lick at a vicious slash over her ribcage. She wanted to ask him why, why he was doing this? But her voice would not obey her.

A combination of blood loss and fear was making her feel dizzy and sick. She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up.

_How could this have happened? I've been so careful…how was I supposed to know he was…like this?_

It was true that Shizuka was generally an excellent judge of the men who came to see her. But she hadn't seen this one coming.

_And now I'm going to die_… The thought didn't frighten her at all; in fact, she thought perhaps death might be rather soothing compared to this agony, this hell on earth.

Her torturer brought the blade to her throat now, letting the tip trace over the sensitive skin. With a final whimper, Shizuka prayed. _God…please let it be over soon_. The next thing she knew was darkness.

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A quiet settled over the room as Rishid finished penning his notes. "So you passed out, then?"

"Yes. I woke up here,' she said, fingering the hospital bracelet on one slim wrist.

Rishid nodded. "Any other details come to mind?"

Shizuka shook her head. "I…don't know. I'm sorry," she said suddenly, "I'm really tired."

"Of course. We can finish this another time," he said sympathetically. He stood up, tucking the notebook into his jacket pocket. "Thank you for your time."

"My pleasure," she said dryly, but the slight smile on her lips took the sting out of her tone.

Rishid smiled back, then made his way to the door. He bowed slightly in the girl's direction and left the room, shutting the door and turning down the disinfected hallway.

He glanced at the time. 4:36 p.m.. Time to get out of this hospital. He found that the tension in his shoulders had not lessened in his time there – the hospital environment simply made him tense. He needed time to relax, time to think about what he had seen and heard.

As much as he liked his job, Rishid couldn't wait to get home.

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That evening Isis pulled him aside after dinner. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked quietly.

Rishid looked into her worried blue eyes. "Of course." He gathered the stack of dinner dishes and followed her into the kitchen. Isis began filling the sink with hot water while he hunted for the dish soap. "What is it?"

Isis sighed. "It's Malik." She looked down, a curtain of ebony hair covering her face before she looked up at him again. "He's failing several of his classes, Rishid."

"What?" True, Malik could be…less inclined to study than some students, but rarely did he fail a class. _Why didn't I know about this earlier? I should have noticed; I've been so wrapped up in my own problems I can't even help my brother._ The guilt he felt must have shown on his face, as Isis touched his arm gently.

"It's not your fault. You know that."

He bowed his head, a habit he still found hard to break with Isis, and especially with Malik. "I could have helped him somehow…" he said, half to himself, half to his sister. But Isis was shaking her head.

"I don't think it's that simple. I think…I think that something's really _wrong_ here. He just won't talk about it."

Rishid frowned. "I'll speak to him."

"Thank you," she said. "I know he'll listen to you." She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. "Why don't you go ahead and talk to him now? I'll finish here."

Rishid nodded absently. "Thank you." He turned and left the room to look for his brother.

If Malik was to be found anywhere, it was usually in his room, listening to music or studying. Or putting off studying. The first year of school had been hard on the boy; there was a lot more schoolwork than he had expected. Of course, some of it was remedial classes for subjects he had never studied. Not that that could really be helped – Malik's prior education had been rather…focused in certain areas.

The door to Malik's room was slightly ajar, and Rishid knocked while pushing it open fully. "Malik?"

No reply. Glancing around the small room, Rishid shook his head inwardly. The room was a cluttered mess, as usual. Automatically picking a shirt up off the floor, Rishid wandered across the room, drawn the textbooks and papers strewn over his brother's desk. _At least the books are open_, he thought wryly. The history book was the only one closed – closed and put away properly on the shelf, as a matter of fact. The textbook looked like it had never even been opened. Rishid glanced at the title: Exploring the Ancient World. _Malik has that subject more or less mastered, I'm sure_. No wonder the book looked brand new.

Turning back to the desk, Rishid sifted through the books and papers there. A mathematics text with a half-page of math problems scribbled in pen. A well-worn dictionary, actually on loan from Rishid. A small stack of papers with the beginnings of essays. The book beneath the essays caught his eye: Herman Hesse's Siddhartha.

He picked up the book and began paging through it thoughtfully. Malik had taken a highlighter to the text with a vengeance, and several pages were dog-eared. But one page in particular stood out. On this page a small passage had been underlined in pen, the lines jagged and desperate:

"_Might the fishes devour him, this dog of a Siddhartha, this madman, this corrupted and rotting body, this sluggish and misused soul! Might the fishes and crocodiles devour him, might the demons tear him to little pieces!"_

Rishid stared at the page, the boldly underlined words staring back at him. _Might the fishes and crocodiles devour him, might the demons tear him to little pieces!_ It somehow struck him as vaguely familiar. What did it mean? Did it mean anything?

Rishid's musings were cut short by a loud rapping on the open door. He started involuntarily.

"Hey. Rishid! What're you doing?"

He looked up to see Malik in the doorway. A feeling of guilt settled over him; he hadn't meant to make it look as though he was spying on his brother, searching through his things. "Sorry. I was looking for you, but I was somewhat distracted." Rishid held up the book in his hand. "Have you finished this? I quite enjoyed it when I read it."

Malik shrugged. "Yeah, I read it, more or less…"

"…more or less?"

The boy blew a long strand of light hair out of his eyes. "Yeah. Kinda skimmed some parts, but I don't think I missed too much." He stepped over another small pile of laundry on the floor and took the book from Rishid's hands. "I should probably get back to studying," he said suddenly.

Rishid stepped aside as Malik opened a drawer, rummaging around for a pen. "How _is_ school, Malik?" he asked quietly.

"Fine." Malik closed the drawer, grabbing a notebook. "Just the usual stuff…boring, really."

Rishid hmmed noncommittally. He watched as his brother flopped down on his bed to study. After a moment he looked up at him, light eyes suspicious. "Can I help you?" he asked archly.

"Malik…" Rishid leaned back on the chest of drawers behind him. "Isis is worried about you; to be honest, I am too. You're very intelligent, Malik – it's not like you to be failing classes. Is something else wrong?"

A scowl had crossed Malik's face at the mention of his classes. "Gods, not you, too." He crossed his arms across his chest. "Listen…nothing's wrong. Maybe I've had some trouble concentrating lately, but it's nothing I can't handle."

"But Malik," he said gently, "you don't _have_ to handle stress by yourself. Isis and I are more than willing to help you; you know that."

Malik regarded him sullenly for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally. He looked down. "I know."

Rishid was quiet for a minute, studying him thoughtfully. "…so…do you think you can pull your grades up? Your education is very important, Malik—"

"—yeah, I know."

"Would you like any help studying?"

"No."

A pause. "How's the rest of school going?"

"What do you mean?"

_You know what I mean, brother_. "Your classmates, your teachers. How are the people at the school?"

Malik played with a thread coming off of his quilt. "They're fine."

"Every one a king among men, then?" Rishid added dryly.

Malik smirked slightly at that. "Nah, there are some real jackasses. But it's nothing big."

Rishid quietly filed that comment into the back of his mind for later. There was also one more question that needed to be asked. He didn't want to ask it, and he knew that Malik wouldn't want to answer it. But it had to be said.

"Malik…" A pause. "Are you taking your medicine?"

There was complete and utter silence, and Rishid's heart sank as his brother glared up at him.

"I just want to be sure that you're OK, Malik…"

"I'm _fine_," he snapped. "And don't ask me about those pills," he added, standing up now. "Don't you trust me! I thought I told you never to ask me that question again!"

Rishid lowered his gaze automatically; he couldn't help it. "I'm sorry, Malik. I do not mean to imply that I don't trust you. I do trust you – you're my brother, for the Gods' sakes. I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"Well, don't be."

There was an uncomfortable tension then. Malik broke the silence first. "I have homework," he muttered.

"Of course." Rishid moved to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. "Let me know if you need any help, brother. With anything. I mean that."

He wished Malik would look him in the eye, but all he got was a silent nod from the figure now bent over the math problems.

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Ta da! Another chapter. This is my first fic with chapters. Thrilling, really XD

Now that ye have read, consider sending a review. Should I keep going with the fic?

And in an attempt to avoid legal issues, here's the book that was quoted from earlier in the fic:

Hesse, Herman. Siddhartha. New Directions Publishing Corporation: New York, 1951.


	3. Chapter 3

Another chapter! Again, I don't own the characters here. I'm just…borrowing them. Yesss. I'll give them back. I promise. :shifty look: And now back to our feature presentation.

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Captain Sumeragi was staring with furrowed brow at the new stack of papers on his desk. The latest information from his team of investigators had not helped nearly as much as he had hoped it would.

How lucky could you get? A serial killer strikes, and the victim _survives_. Shizuka Jounouchi saw the killer face to face but had only been able to provide frustratingly superficial details about her attacker – a youngish man, light hair… Nothing groundbreaking. Unfortunately, Sumeragi had superiors breathing down his neck, and he knew they would be less than pleased to hear how little the case had progressed.

With caffeine-powered resolve, Sumeragi leaned forward in his chair to grab the first manila folder in reach. _Suspect number one of, well, hundreds_… That was a depressing thought. He sighed and shook his head.

_Suspect one, then_. Masa "Blade" Tanaka… A glance at the photo provided showed a young gangster with longishi bleach-blond hair. Three priors – one of them being a knife fight in a bar two years ago. Another brush with the law – this time armed robbery – also involving a knife. But something in his gut told Sumeragi that while this kid was a delinquent with a violent streak, he was probably not the guy they were after. There was no subtlety, no cunning to his crimes. The knife fight and the armed robbery were too obvious, too artless. Sumeragi continued to the next folder.

The information on the next suspect was vague, at best, but something in the descriptions made Sumeragi read closely and carefully.

Bakura Ryou. Arrested only once for possession of a weapon on school grounds, but released in short order; apparently the boy had been adamant that the weapon – a wicked, stainless steel blade – was not his. The boy had had to change schools anyway; evidently he had changed schools several times, in fact. The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. No other crimes had been connected to the boy, although the report from a school psychologist made him pause. Apparently the boy was rather introverted most of the time, but could suffer from "sudden and violent mood swings, perhaps akin to dissociative identity disorder."

Multiple personalities? Could you have an alternate, serial-killer type personality and not know about it?

Sumeragi fiddled with a pencil on his desk thoughtfully. He really didn't know too much about psychology. The only guy he had met who had a serious psychological disorder was a grade-A kleptomaniac. That had been an interesting arrest. The seemingly normal, middle-aged man was stealing items large and small by color; when they searched his house they found that each room was devoted to a different hue – a room full of only blue items, a room draped in green, a bathroom totally and utterly white. What was it they said? Obsessive-something or other. Kleptomaniac. Fuckin' nuts, is what it was.

So maybe this idea of a killer alter-ego wasn't out of the question. Maybe. He'd have to float the idea past the department's psychologist, maybe even some of the other guys on the force. It was worth a shot.

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_Friday, 7:52 p.m._

Rishid returned home exhausted. He had spent three frustrating days conducting interviews, talking to what seemed like countless numbers of people, some of who were less than willing to cooperate with the police. There was also the additional warding-off to be done – people calling in with what they thought could be useful information ("My neighbor has been acting strangely…"), none of which was actually helpful.

He sighed and closed the book in front of him. Perhaps lying down on the couch to read had been a bad idea – he felt as though he was going to fall asleep any minute here in the living room.

He closed his eyes briefly. _I'll just sit here and…think. Yes. I'm thinking. Not sleeping_. But his thoughts on the case soon gave way to a sort of half-dream, half-memory, and the book now rested on his chest as he began to nod off.

In his dream, Rishid was, as always, at Malik's side.

"_What's this one say, Rishid?"_

_Rishid glanced down at the hieroglyph his brother was pointing to. "It means 'to wait.'" He took the boy's pen from him and recopied the glyph, writing the Arabic beside it._

"_Oh." Malik was quiet for a minute as he returned to the text he was reading. "What's this?"_

_Rishid looked up again to the spot his brother was indicating. "That means 'burden.'" He repeated the process with the pen: hieroglyph, Arabic._

"_Thanks. I knew that. I think." Malik bent his head over the book again. After another minute had passed, he reached over to tug on Rishid's robe. "What about this one?"_

_Rishid sighed. "Malik-sama, if you are to learn your lesson thoroughly it would be best if _you_ read the scripture, not me."_

_Malik scowled. "I _do_ know the lesson. I'm just double-checking."_

"_Yes, Malik-sama."_

_Silence fell again, the oil lamp burning steadily in the small room. It wasn't long, though, before Malik spoke again. This time, however, his voice sounded very small. "Rishid…"_

_The young man glanced down at his small charge and noticed with a start that the boy looked as though he were about to cry. "Malik-sama!" He bent down, lightly touching a shoulder rigid with unshed tears. "What's wrong?"_

_Malik fixed his gaze on the text in front of him as he spoke. "I don't…I don't want…"_

"_Yes?"_

_Rishid started involuntarily as Malik suddenly wrapped his arms around him, clinging to him for protection. "I'm scared, Rishid…I don't want to go through the ceremony…" The boy's voice became inaudible, muffled by Rishid's tunic._

_It hurt Rishid's heart to see Malik so frightened. He placed a hand on the blond head, choosing his next words carefully. "Malik-sama…the initiation ceremony is a sacred duty…" He paused. The words sounded hollow, even to him. He tried again. "It is the duty of this clan to protect the memories of the Pharaoh…"_

"_But I don't want—"_

"_Malik-sama."_

_Malik ignored him, choosing instead to strike his fists helplessly against Rishid's chest. Rishid withstood the blows until Malik's strength ebbed. When he spoke again, it was quietly but with conviction. "Malik-sama, I will help you to prepare in whatever way I can. I swear it."_

_Malik didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was flat. "I don't want to…but…," here he took an unsteady breath, "it says: 'And to he who refuses this burden, may he be cast out. May the Gods tear his mind asunder, may the jackals rend his flesh to bits. As it is written, so may he be judged.' Rishid…people die from the blood ceremony. And if I refuse, I'm as good as dead. I…I'm going to die. Either way, I'm going to die."_

_Rishid looked at the open book on the table, alarmed by Malik's words. And to those who refuse this burden… "You will not die, Malik-sama." He held the boy in his arms, trying to calm him. "You will not die."_

_It was true. The boy would survive the initiation. He would not die, but something else would be born…_

The sudden slam of the front door made Rishid jump, jerking his from the memory. Malik was home.

"Rishid?"

He sat up slightly. "In the living room."

Malik appeared in the doorway. "Hey. Is there still food?"

"In the fridge." Rishid sat up fully now, laying the book aside on a table. "We missed you at dinner," he said.

"Sorry," Malik said, looking contrite. "I stayed late at the library. Doing research," he added.

Rishid raised an eyebrow at that.

"It's true! I really was!" Malik looked at him earnestly. "Call the library! Check the security tapes!"

_They have security cameras in libraries? I suppose so…_ He waved a hand dismissively. "No, no. I trust you. Just make sure you call next time if you're going to be—"

"—going to be home later than expected," Malik finished. "I know, I know. I forgot. Hey," he said, changing the subject, "how's the case going?"

Rishid shrugged. "It's going. I can't really give you any details, you know."

Malik nodded. "I know. You can't say anything." He sighed and started to head for the kitchen. "Rishid," he said, pausing at the doorway, "can you, like, blink anything?"

"What?"

"I'll ask you a yes or no question, and then you blink once if the answer is no, and twice if the answer is yes, OK? First question: Do you have any suspects?"

Rishid stood up wearily. "Go get something to eat, Malik."

Malik ducked out of the doorway, laughing.

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Voila! Sorry the chapter is so short – more on the way soon, I promise.

Special thanks to PharaonicWolf, UsuakariTOT, and Kotori-chan for their reviews. It's always wonderful to have people comment on the poor scribbling of this writer! Reviews keep my ego warm and fed ; ) I hope you enjoy the fic as it continues!


	4. Chapter 4

The fic continues…

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Kajuka Mai emptied a non-fat creamer into her coffee, stirring the tepid liquid with a plastic straw. "Shizuka, hon, are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

The girl in question shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm fine."

Mai sipped at her coffee then made a face, putting the cup down. "Damn instant. What we need is some _real_ coffee around here." She sighed and returned to the subject of food. "You need nutrients, girl. You look tired."

Shizuka managed a wan smile. She really wasn't hungry. The reason she looked worn out was simple – she hadn't slept in two days. Now that she was no longer on so many painkillers, she had to rely on her body's natural rhythms to send her to sleep. Unfortunately, terrifying and horribly graphic nightmares were making sleep impossible. She examined the bandage on her left arm. "I think I need some more of those sleeping pills."

The older woman frowned. "Trouble sleeping, huh? You having nightmares or something?" When the girl nodded in response, Mai shook her head. "Listen, hon. Pills are great. They really are. But sooner or later you're going to have to face what's really bothering you. Trust me, I speak from experience."

Shizuka nodded again quietly. She knew that Mai's first time with a man had been…unpleasant, to say the least. Bothered by nightmares, the woman had used sleeping pills to help her sleep and continue working; over time, though, she developed a dependence on them. Those first few weeks without her pills had been hellish, and she didn't want Shizuka to go through that.

"It's just…the dreams seem so real," she whispered.

Mai nodded sympathetically. "Do you want to talk about it?"

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"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Please, Miss Jounouchi. We're just trying to get to the bottom of this."

Shizuka sighed, rubbing her temples. Why was it that everyone and his brother had to interview her? But this was the police. Given her current profession, it was probably best that she didn't upset them too much. "Fine," she said. "What else do you want to know?"

Captain Sumeragi shifted in his seat. "Could you give us the time frame again, please?"

"When it happened? Around 1:30, I would guess."

Sumeragi paused. "Is that a.m. or p.m.?"

"A.m.," she said, barely refraining from adding "you dimwit." "Anything else?"

The captain glanced at Rishid, who seemed distracted. "Ishtar? Anything else?" he asked sharply.

Rishid folded his hands quietly. "Miss Jounouchi, is the injury to your left arm one that you sustained in the fight with your attacker?"

She nodded cautiously. The bandages had come off just yesterday, and the arm was still quite tender.

"May I see your arm, please?"

Shrugging, Shizuka extended her arm toward the man. It was a strange request, but at least he was polite about it.

"Lieutenant—"

"Humor me, Captain." Rishid leaned closer, examining the angry raw wounds that crossed the girl's arm. His eyes grew wide as he realized what he was seeing. "Miss Jounouchi, I would like to photograph this for our files…"

"Ishtar!" Sumeragi stage-whispered.

Rishid conveniently ignored him as the girl consented. Explanations would have to wait for the moment…

Ten minutes later, captain and lieutenant were leaving the hospital.

"OK, Ishtar," Sumeragi said, "would you mind telling me what the hell that was all about?"

Rishid answered calmly as they passed the automatic doors. "I think the marks in her arm weren't just random. It almost looked like _writing_—"

"—Ha!" The captain shook his head, chuckling. "Writing. Right. I don't know where you went to school, but that did not look like writing to me. Unless we have a killer with terrible handwriting." He chuckled again at his own joke.

Rishid ignored the crack about his education and chose to shrug mildly instead. "Or unless it's a writing system you're not familiar with."

The captain shook his head. "Listen, Ishtar. I like you, so I'm going to give you some advice, here. Let's follow our other leads first, before we check out the possibility of a messy writer with a violent streak. Might be a little more productive, OK?"

Rishid nodded slightly. "Whatever gets us to the bottom of this case."

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After lunch Rishid spread the photos from the case files over his desk, arranging them in chronological order. A certain thought had been bothering him since his last visit to the hospital, and he needed to face it directly.

Starting with Shizuka Jounouchi… The marks on her arm really _did_ resemble hieroglyphs. _But maybe that's just because you're familiar with the writing system. You could be seeing order where there is none…_

_For argument's sake, though, let's assume that it is writing. What's next?_ He scanned the other photos. An awful realization was slowly beginning to dawn on him. _Gods have mercy_…

Some of the girls' bodies were twisted at awkward angles, and not all of the words were visible. He pieced together what he saw:

File 1. Photos 1-A, 1-B: _Mihoko Yamata_

to……..refuse….burden

File 2. Photos 1-C, 2-E: _Ami Hinoto_

he…..cast out

File 3. Photo 3-F: _No name available_

Gods tear………..asunder

File 4. Photo 1-C: _Yuki Honda_

may………his flesh…bits

File 5. Photo 1-A. _Shizuka Jounouchi_

it is written

Rishid sat frozen, hardly believing the message…refuse burden, cast out…

He held his head in his hands, still staring at the photos. "And to he who refuses this burden," he whispered, "may he be cast out. May the Gods tear his mind asunder, may the jackals tear his flesh to bits. As it is written, so may he be judged…"

_By the Gods…_

Malik.

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Heh heh heh…Suspenseful ending, eh? Hopefully will have more up soon. You know what makes me write faster? Reviews. ; ) Click the review button below if ye want


	5. Chapter 5

OK, new chapter up, finally. Sorry it's so short…just wanted to get this posted. Hopefully there will be much more forthcoming over the next few days!

Onward, then, eh?

Captain Sumeragi crossed and uncrossed his ankles in front of him, then looked at the department's forensic psychiatrist once more. "Sorry," he said, "but what did you say it was called again?"

"Well, it used to be called multiple personality disorder, but now it's referred to as dissociative identity disorder. It's the same thing, really – breakdowns in a person's memory, awareness, identity and whatnot."

"Ah. So it's possible to have an alternate personality, then, right?"

"In so many words, yes." The psychiatrist folded his hands in front of him. "In severe cases you could have someone who suffers from several different personality states, several different 'alters'."

"I was looking at one of the suspect's profiles." Here Sumeragi tossed Bakura Ryou's folder onto the desk in front of him. "They mention something about violent mood swings. Do you think it's possible that someone could have an alter with a penchant for violent crime?"

"When an alter takes control over the patient's behavior, that alter could have very different traits and thoughts from the 'normal' personality. I suppose you could have an alter that committed crimes that you wouldn't even dream of doing in your normal state." He tapped his pen thoughtfully against his chin. "Of course, I can't make any assumptions without having met the individual in question," he added, moving to flip through Bakura's file.

Hmm. This was getting interesting. "So. Say one of your alters committed a crime…would you even know about it?"

"Not necessarily. Someone with dissociative identity disorder may not even be aware that they even _have_ these alters. And it's possible they wouldn't even have any memories from the time when the alternate personality was dominant."

"Hm." The captain frowned thoughtfully, then stood from the hard chair he had been sitting in. "Thanks for your time, doctor. I may be back with some more questions."

"No problem. Anytime, Captain." He nodded to the police officer as he left the office.

Out in the hall now, Captain Sumeragi's mind was beginning to see some new possibilities.

_At least it's a direction to go in… We're running out of options._ Ahead he spotted Lieutenant Ishtar at his desk. "Ishtar! Anything new?"

The man looked up quickly then shook his head, sweeping the photos on his desk into a messy pile at the same time. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Nothing groundbreaking, sir."

Sumeragi nodded sympathetically, pausing at the desk. "Actually, we may have something new out of psych. Have you heard of dissociative identity disorder?"

"Multiple personality disorder, right? I've…read a bit about it."

Sumeragi laughed. "I'm sure." Rishid Ishtar, he had discovered, was very well read. "The subject came up when I was looking at one of the suspect's files – Bakura Ryou's to be exact. If he suffers from dissociative identity disorder, there's a chance he could have committed crimes in one of his 'sudden and violent' personality changes. I know it's a long shot, but I want you to look into the boy's background, see if there's anything else you can dig up."

Rishid looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it." Sumeragi watched him turn back to his computer before he, too, continued down the hall to his own desk. It was time to get back to work.

Ah, the plot thickens. Tune in soon for better, longer chapters continuing our story! XD


	6. Chapter 6

Aha! More in our captivating tale. A tale in which I own none of the characters – Takahashi-san does. And a tale through which I am making no money. ;; XD OK, then, onward…

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Malik shivered in his sleep. He had gone to bed very late, deciding to essentially give up on his English essay. Maybe he would finish it when he woke up the next morning. Maybe not.

At the moment, though, school assignments were the last things on his mind. After falling into bed, he had been overtaken by fitful sleep, a sleep that was now caught in nightmare.

_He was underground again, surrounded by stone. It was the night before the initiation was to take place. Malik knew he would need his strength in the morning, but he also knew there was no way in hell he was going to be able to fall asleep. _

Gods, help me._ Wrapping his blanket tighter around himself, he turned on his side, staring into the darkness and trying not to cry. There was no way out. He did not want to do this, but there was no way he could avoid it. Even Rishid had returned from his father's study tight-lipped, shaking his head. There was no one who could undergo the initiation for him. _

_In the dream he squeezed his eyes shut; he opened them only to find himself flanked by two silent guards, ready to escort him to the ceremonial chamber. He tried to fight when they gripped his arms, twisting and squirming in an effort to break away. But the men were so much stronger than he was, and panic began to rise in his throat as he was dragged down the hall._

"_Rishid! Rishid!" It was his last chance before he entered the chamber. "Please!" he shrieked desperately. "Help me! Rishid!" But Rishid would not look at him._

_The heavy door shut behind him now, and Malik could feel his limbs trembling. He couldn't help it. He tried to calm himself, to steel himself for what was ahead, but his breathing was ragged and shaky. One of the shadowed figures stepped forward toward him. "Father…" _

_His father spoke, but the words did not seem to be directed to his son. "Malik Ishtar. Have you prepared yourself for the sacred duty you are about to accept?"_

"_Father," he said tearfully, "Father, please." But his voice was small – he was small – and they were so much bigger, so much stronger. He felt dizzy and hot. The stone was cold and sudden beneath his chest, and he became vaguely aware of the chanting above him…_

"_The chosen will carry this burden onward, father to son, and son to his own. And the signs will continue this way, through the generations, until the Pharaoh's return…"_

"_Father, please," Malik choked out. "Please stop…" he whispered weakly. He felt his father's hands on his back, then, hard and cold on his shoulders, pinning him to the stone slab. _

"_Malik!" Ishtar hissed through clenched teeth, and Malik knew he should say no more. The chanting continued, and Malik felt his father's eyes burning into him as the next words were spoken:_

"…_To he who refuses this burden, may he be cast out. May the Gods tear his mind asunder, may the jackals tear his flesh to bits. As it is written, so may he be judged…"_

_And then the pain began. Even in his dream, Malik felt the pain as if it were really happening all over again. His hand wound itself into a fist in his sheets, and his jaw clenched so hard it began to ache. In his dream, Malik was screaming._

Gods…_ The pain was too much to take. He _would_ die. He would die either way, either here and now, or later when the gods damned him for his resistance. He wanted to throw up but couldn't. _

_A rushing sound was building in his head. At first he thought it was the sound of his own blood in his ears, but the noise seemed to be rearranging itself into words. _It's too late, now, Malik_, a phantom voice said silkily._

Shut up_, he thought, sick with pain and tears. _Shut up, shut up, shut up_…_

Shhh…Give in…I'll carry the pain…you're too small. What were they thinking? So small…so much blood…such delicious blood, delicious screams, delicious hate_. Another arc of the knife made Malik twist in agony_. …pretty blood, pretty hate…so small, so helpless, so easy to cut easy to break easy to give in…give in give in hate and blood blood and hate….

_And suddenly in his dream, all went dark._

Malik awoke to the sound of pounding on his door. "Malik! Malik, are you awake?" It was Isis.

_Fucking hell…_ "Yes?" he said, but his voice was raspy and caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. "Yes?"

"Get out of bed, Malik. You're going to be late for school."

Malik grunted in response. After a minute or two he pushed his covers aside and sat up. Gods, this headache was killing him. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 7:53 a.m.._ Great. Guess that stupid English paper isn't getting done._ He sighed and started to get dressed, trying to leave his nightmares behind.

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"Hey, Rishid. Anything new?" Hiroto Honda leaned on the counter behind him, stirring the sugar into his coffee.

Rishid looked up, smiling slightly upon seeing the other man with the coffee in hand. He rarely saw Honda without a cup of coffee – the young man had a real caffeine dependency. If Honda was empty handed, he had either just finished a cup of the dark brew or was on his way to get another. "Nothing really," Rishid lied.

Honda nodded. "I know what you mean. Sumeragi seems to think we may have a lead with the Bakura boy, but I'm not sure if that'll get us anywhere."

Rishid shook his head, trying to choose his words carefully. "Personally, I really don't think it's him. Something about the profile just doesn't seem right to me…" He felt awful letting any trace of suspicion fall on Bakura Ryou, but there was also no way he was going to turn in his own brother. At the same time, though, Rishid had no idea what he was going to do next. He had yet to confront Malik directly, and he really didn't want to drag Isis into this. _This isn't her problem. I'm the one who's supposed to be taking care of Malik, really. But it looks like I've failed… _

"Well," Honda continued, "if you have any ideas you'd better let the captain know. Sumeragi's hell-bent on getting the boy in here for questioning."

"What?"

"I heard something about them bringing him in here this afternoon."

Honda watched in amazement as the lieutenant in front of him stood up so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. Muttering a hurried apology, Rishid grabbed his jacket and strode toward the door without a backwards glance.

"Rishid? Lieutenant! Where are you going?"

But he was already gone.

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Gracious! Such excitement! Hopefully I'll have another chapter up very soon…


	7. Chapter 7

Finally, an update! My apologies to those of you whom I've kept waiting! This chapter is not quite as action-packed, but I needed some plot-linkage…heh heh… So voila. Enjoy!

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Malik slumped at his desk, brooding over his half-finished English paper. How was he going to finish his analysis in the next five minutes? Stupid Siddhartha…_that madman… that corrupted body… Might the fishes and crocodiles devour him, might the demons tear him to little pieces! _Malik shook his head slightly, frowning. The headache was getting worse. He put his head down on his desk for a moment, waiting for the pounding to pass. The bell rang. _Damn_.

He drifted through the next half hour of class, the headache growing steadily worse. Finally he decided to excuse himself and go get a drink of water from the fountain. Closing the door quietly, he turned to walk down the hall. It would be the last thing he would be able to remember for a while…

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4:16 p.m.

Rei Yamamoto had worked as the school secretary for nearly thirty-five years now. And she had never seen a student with so many absences as Malik Ishtar had had recently.

"Children these days have absolutely no sense of responsibility," she said sadly to herself, shaking her head. The note in front of her confirmed another mark against the Ishtar boy; evidently he had left in the middle of his first class and never returned. The boy's guardians had been notified before, but it seemed that whatever effect that had had on the boy's behavior had worn off. She glanced at the phone numbers on the contact list. Perhaps another phone call home wouldn't hurt. Sighing, she reached for the phone.

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Isis jumped slightly when the telephone on her desk rang; it was particularly quiet this afternoon, and she had been spending the last several hours sorting through a seemingly never-ending stack of papers that had somehow managed to accrue on her desk. The sudden sound split the silence and hung heavily in the still air.

"Department of Egyptian Antiquities," she answered automatically, pushing back a strand of hair and glancing at an old memo in her hand. _Dated last May. By the Gods. It hasn't been that long since I went through this stack, has it? _

"Hello. I'm trying to reach Miss Isis Ishtar…" The voice on the other end of the line sounded vaguely familiar.

"This is she."

"Ah. Very good. I'm Rei Yamamoto, calling from Domino High…"

Isis sighed inwardly. It was not the first telephone call she had received from the school secretary. "Hello, Yamamoto-san," she said politely. _This is not going to be good news, I can tell…_

"Miss Ishtar, I'm afraid I'm calling with some disappointing news. It seems that Malik left class earlier this morning and hasn't been seen since. Were you aware of this?"

Isis pitched another stack of old papers into the wastebasket beside her desk. "I'm sorry," she said, trying to keep the tired edge out of her voice, "I didn't know this."

"I just wanted to let you know, dear. His records show that he has skipped class several times over the past few weeks…of course, we're not sure why. Perhaps he's ill, or something is troubling the young man?" The secretary's voice had taken on a grandmotherly tone. "I just think someone needs to talk to him…"

"Yes. Yes, I agree…" Isis said, somewhat distracted. _A letter dated from February. Gods._ She sighed and switched the phone to her right ear. "Thank you for calling, Yamamoto-san."

"You're welcome, dear. Please let us know if there's anything the school can do."

"I will. Thank you." She placed the phone back on the receiver, sighing. The room fell once again into heavy silence, and Isis ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. _Malik…brother. What's wrong?_

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Doctor Hinoto had been sorting through supplies for the last ten minutes, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. So he nearly had a heart attack when he turned around to see the young man standing behind him. "Gah!" he yelped ineloquently, then caught himself. He straightened his glasses on his nose while he tried to catch his breath. "How the hell did you get in here?"

The dark-skinned boy in front of him shrugged mildly. "I got lost." The voice held a certain sly undertone that made the doctor narrow his eyes.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to get lost again," he said sternly. "Visitors are not allowed back here."

The boy shrugged again languidly. "Sure thing." He turned and left before Doctor Hinoto could send him another irritated glare. Hinoto sent a stern look at the boy's retreating back anyway.

_That was…odd._ He turned back to the shelves, selecting one last small bottle before turning to gather his other supplies. _Hmm_. That was strange. He could have sworn he had picked up a scalpel five minutes ago. _I must be getting old_, he thought ruefully. _My memory's going already_. Feeling silly, he crouched to look under a nearby table in case the blade had fallen on the floor without him noticing. Nothing. He shook his head slightly. Sighing, he selected another, new scalpel before turning and locking the supply door behind him.

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"So where were you last week, Wednesday night?"

Ryou frowned in thought. Good God. He couldn't even remember what he had eaten for dinner last night, let alone what he was doing last week. "Um…I was here, I suppose."

"Was anyone else here with you?"

He shook his head, a strand of pale hair falling into his eyes. He brushed it aside as he looked at the detectives sitting across from him in his living room. He was beginning to think that letting them come into the house had been a mistake.

"So you live alone, then?" an officer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no…not exactly. I mean, my father is here, too. Sometimes." He shrugged. "He's very busy with his work," he said lightly.

"I see." One of the detectives made a note. Ryou swallowed nervously. That voice in the back of his head was starting to get louder. _Tell them to leave. Now. We've had enough of this foolishness_. The boy passed a hand over his eyes. He was really starting to feel unwell.

"We've spoken with the administrators at your school…"

Ryou cringed inwardly. _I hope they didn't mention those weeks I skipped_. Ryou was a good student when he applied himself, but some days he felt…less motivated.

"…it seems that there were one or two fights you may have been involved in…"

'_Involved in' fights. Ha. Finished them, is more like it._

"…and you've had some attendance troubles in the past…"

Ryou shifted uncomfortably his chair, unsettled by both the snickering Voice and the well-informed police.

"Can you tell us a little more about that?"

Flushing, Ryou studied his sneakers before nodding. But he had done nothing wrong. At least not that he could remember. There was no reason to be afraid to talk to the police, was there? _Fool_, the Voice said, silky and derisive. Ryou licked his lips and began speaking anyway…

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Rishid's cell phone was blinking at him. _Hm…voice message_. Punching in a few numbers, he held the phone to his ear, waiting patiently through the voice announcing "message one".

"Hello, Rishid. Sorry to bother you at work…"

Rishid smiled faintly in recognition. Isis. She always prefaced her calls to him with 'Sorry to bother you at work…' He honestly didn't mind the interruption, as he had told her, but it seemed to be a habit she couldn't break.

"…I'm calling to let you know I might be a little late getting out of work today," her voice continued. "If it's inconvenient for you to pick me up, I can take the bus home…" At that point she seemed to be done talking, but she suddenly hurried to add a final thought: "Oh…and Rishid…the school called again. It seems Malik left school earlier this morning." A tired sigh came over the line. "Sometimes I just don't know what to do with him…Anyway. We'll have to talk about that later, I suppose. See you tonight." The message ended.

Shaking his head, Rishid pocketed the phone again. _Malik_… His first reaction was to leave work immediately and hunt his brother down. What if he turned violent? _Again_, a small voice amended. _He's been violent before…_ He frowned slightly, turning toward the door before hesitating.

_What if nothing's wrong? Malik is already upset that you asked about his medicine. He needs to see that you trust him; the last thing he wants to find out is that his older brother is following him._ But at the same time, Rishid knew that his brother, or more accurately the Creature inside his brother, could not be trusted. Ever. Even if Malik had seemed normal at breakfast, it was very possible that things had gone horribly wrong since this morning.

The question now, though, was how to find his brother. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket once more, Rishid dialed Malik's phone. His brother always had his phone on him, and Rishid was praying that he would pick up now.

_C'mon, c'mon….answer the phone!_ The ringing seemed to last forever, but it was probably only on the fourth ring that someone picked up. That someone, however, wasn't saying anything.

Rishid swallowed. "…Hello?" he ventured. There seemed to be some sort of beeping in the background, and the sound of other voices in a crowded room. The noises seemed familiar, but Rishid couldn't quite place them. "Hello?" he tried again. "Malik?"

"Hello, brother." A sly, amused voice hissed back at him.

_Gods, no_… "Creature," he growled.

"Servant," the voice spat back at him. And then he hung up.

Cursing under his breath, Rishid hung up as well. _Well, that was productive_. He ran a hand over his head, frustrated. How the hell was he going to find him now? But even as he started pacing in front of his desk, something was being put together in his mind. _The sounds in the background…where was he when I called?_ And suddenly it hit him. He knew the sounds because he had been to the place before: Domino city hospital.

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Muahaha! Suspense! Now to scribble out the next chapter…hopefully one filled with action-packed goodness…heh heh…

Review if you have a mind to!


	8. Chapter 8

Finally, an update! Thanks for your patience, minna-san! Enjoy!

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Shizuka had been napping when she thought she heard the door open. Briefly, she considered pretending she was still asleep…maybe the nurse would leave her alone just for another few minutes. One thing she had found out about hospital life: there was virtually no privacy. The staff did what they could to make her comfortable, but it seemed like someone came to do some sort of test every twenty minutes. She sighed to herself. _Patience. Patience is a virtue._ She rolled over slowly to face the door and felt the blood drain from her face.

It wasn't a nurse. It was _him_ – the face from her nightmares. She felt the panic rising in her chest as he locked eyes with her. _How on earth did he find me?!_ Somehow she found enough strength to summon her voice. "No," she croaked. "Go away!!"

The young man sneered in response; his eyes were terrifyingly blank. "I'm afraid you have no choice," he laughed. And then Shizuka saw the small but bright blade in his hand.

"NO!!" she shrieked. Her hand fumbled for the button to call the nurse, but she had barely reached it when he pounced on her arm.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…" he hissed. His grip was tight and cold, and Shizuka whimpered. "What's the matter?" he mocked, watching how the girl's wide eyes followed the blade. "Something wrong?"

"Let go of me," she said, sounding braver than she felt. "Now."

The man's eyes narrowed as he frowned. "I told you," he said, eyeing the marks on her arm, "you have no choice. You cannot refuse." She shivered as he brought the scalpel up to slice away a bandage. When he spoke again, his voice was even darker than before. "Do you know what happens to those who refuse?"

"Stop," she whispered. "Please stop."

He laughed out loud, drawing the blade down her injured arm. "Pretty bird…we haven't even started yet…"

Just then, there was a sudden knock on the door. "Miss Jounouchi?" A nurse opened the door to look in. "Did you call­—" Her eyes widened as she took in the scene in front of her. "Oh, my God…" The young man with the blade leapt to his feet, snarling, but she slammed the door shut before he could reach her. "Oh, my God," she repeated, voice and hands shaking. She turned to yell down the busy corridor, trying to stay calm but failing. "Quickly!" she yelled, her throat tight with panic. "Somebody call the police!"

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Captain Sumeragi answered his phone on the second ring. "Sumeragi."

"Captain? We have a call coming in from Domino general…"

The captain took a sip from his coffee mug; he knew he shouldn't really have caffeine after noon, but it was a habit. Probably one he had picked up from Honda. "What's the word?" he asked.

"Hostage taker, sir. A nurse found a young man wielding a scalpel in a patient's room – she managed to get out of the room and call us before the guy could stop her."

"Ah, fuck," he grumbled, switching the phone to his other ear. "Is this whole city goin' nuts, or what?" the captain remarked, already pulling on his jacket.

"I couldn't say, sir."

Sumeragi rolled his eyes. "It was a rhetorical question, kid. Never mind. Get the word out – we need units to the hospital as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

Captain Sumeragi grabbed his holster as he headed out the door. _Forget the caffeine_, he thought wryly. _This job is enough excitement for me…_

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Rishid was only a block away from the hospital when he got the call – a young man with a knife was at Domino City hospital. The lieutenant swore in every language he knew.

At least I'm almost there, he thought, gripping the steering wheel. It was only a few minutes later that he reached the hospital parking lot and ran inside. He reached the front desk, heart racing already.

"Lieutenant Rishid Ishtar, Domino City Police," he said, flashing his badge for the secretary. "We got a call about a young man—"

"—with a knife," the secretary finished. "Room 2612. Didn't you bring anyone with you?" she asked, incredulous.

"More people are on the way," he assured her, before dashing down the hall. _And hopefully they won't be too late. _

Rishid reached Room 2612 in record time, steeling himself for the worst. _Please, Gods…help me…_ He tried the door – locked. Damn. He didn't hesitate as he threw his weight against the door. Knowing the Creature, there was no time to lose…

The first thing he saw when he burst into the room was blood – blood on the sheets, blood on the floor, and blood on his brother's hands. The Creature was already at her bedside. When he noticed Rishid, he grabbed the girl and held her bloody form against his chest, a blade at her throat. "Not another step, servant," he rasped.

_Fucking hell_. "Malik," he said, keeping his voice steady. "Malik. Brother. Listen to me…" As he spoke, he slowly drew his gun. He would use it if he had to, Gods help him.

The not-Malik threw back his head, laughing; the sound made the hairs on the back of Rishid's neck rise. "Do us all a favor, servant. Just put that gun to your own head and end this now. You wouldn't shoot your dear brother, now, would you?" He smirked, tightening his grip on the terrified girl as he moved her to shield himself.

"Shizuka," Rishid said quietly, "Shizuka, listen." He felt a moment of relief when she moved her eyes to look at him. "Just stay calm, Shizuka…" Keeping his gun in front of him, he looked toward the Creature again. "You. You will leave my brother. _Now_."

The Creature bared his teeth at Rishid, a mad dog. "No!" he snarled.

_Damn_. He would have to try another way, and fast. Shizuka's arms were shaky and bleeding, and she looked as though she might go into shock soon. "Malik. Listen to me, brother! You can fight this. I know you can. Come back, Malik…please."

The Creature's face twisted in response. "Stop it," he spat. "Stop now." He shook his head as though trying to clear it. "Shut up!"

Rishid risked another step. "Malik…look at me, brother…"

"NO!" the Creature barked. "Back off!" But then a change came over his voice, and a strangled cry left his lips. "Rishid!"

Rishid's heart lifted – perhaps his brother was not too far gone. "Malik! I hear you…Please, just let go of her and talk to me…" He tried to keep his voice soothing as he inched closer. That knife was too close to the girl's throat for his comfort.

"Stop him, Rishid!" Malik cried. But another spasm of tension seemed to seize him, and he suddenly gripped the girl tighter. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

Shizuka was crying now, and Rishid felt the situation starting to slip out of control. "Malik!" he said sharply. "Stop this, brother! Come back!" He took another step – he was almost within arm's reach of him now.

Malik screwed his eyes shut, an inhuman growl escaping his throat. "Go away!" he rasped. "Get out…away…" The hand clenching the scalpel began to move down towards his side now, away from the Shizuka's throat. Rishid moved a hand out to the girl as quickly as he dared, intent on pulling her to safety. But the Creature had other ideas.

Just as Rishid reached Shizuka's arm, Malik's eyes snapped open. But they were not his brother's eyes – these eyes were blank yet focused, and riveted on his. "Go to hell, servant," he hissed, and lunged at his throat.

Shizuka screamed, and Rishid pushed her out of harm's way. "Stay back!" he ordered, turning quickly to sidestep the blade coming at him. Unfortunately he was not fast enough – the short blade bit through his jacket and sank into his shoulder. Rishid yelled as the Creature gnashed his teeth in frustration, turning the blade in his shoulder. He was too close now to get a safe shot off with his gun. _Forgive me, Malik…_ Gritting his teeth, he punched his brother as hard as he could in the stomach.

The Creature howled and staggered back, the breath knocked out of him. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Rishid quickly hauled his brother up by the collar and pushed him hard against the wall. "Malik!" he growled, "you can fight this! Please, brother…come back…" He winced as the pain in his shoulder flared. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up.

Pinned against the wall, the Creature thrashed ineffectually, his speech frenzied. "Unhand me, slave!" he spat, then just as quickly, "Stop him! Stop him, Rishid!" He kicked his legs, trying to escape. "Rishid!...Fuck you! FUCK YOU! Let go, you bastard!!...Brother…help…" He spat and hissed, but his strength seemed to be ebbing. Suddenly, Rishid saw his brother's true eyes; "Rishid…" he managed, but he could not continue. Malik's eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped exhausted toward the floor.

_Gods have mercy._ Rishid supported Malik under his arms, moving him to the floor. His brother was silent, but Rishid was breathing hard. He jumped involuntarily as he heard a noise behind him.

"Ishtar! Are you alright?" It was Captain Sumeragi. He and several other policemen stood at the doorway, guns drawn.

Rishid stood, wincing. "I'm fine. He's unconscious. I think she needs a doctor, though," he said, gesturing towards Shizuka, who was still crouched behind the bed, shivering. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but his hands were shaking. That had been too close.

"Looks like we need a doctor for you, too." Sumeragi squinted at the dark bloodstain on the lieutenant's jacket. "Good God. Were you shot?" he asked, alarmed.

"Stabbed," Rishid corrected, indicating the bloodied scalpel on the floor. Next to the blade, Malik moaned and stirred. In an instant, Sumeragi's gun was leveled at the boy, and there was a series of clicks as the other policemen followed suit. "Get back, Ishtar…looks like he's waking up."

But instead of backing up, Rishid approached the barely-conscious boy, crouching next to him. "Malik…" he said quietly, "are you awake?" He could hear Sumeragi's surprise behind him. "How do you know his name?"

Rishid placed a hand on the boy's arm, not looking back at the captain. "He's my brother," he said quietly.

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Ooh – suspenseful stabbity! Hopefully I'll have an epilogue chapter or two soon to wrap things up. In the meantime, feel free to zing a review my way! Reviews help fuel my ego! I mean…creativity. They help to fuel my creativity...yesss…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter the ninth. Again, I own the ideas but not the characters. Unfortunately XD

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Isis had arrived home to find the house empty and dark. "Hello?" She tossed her keys on the kitchen table. "Rishid? Malik?" The red light of the answering machine was blinking at her, and she pressed the button apprehensively to listen to the new message.

It was the hospital. Reaching out behind her, Isis found a chair and sat numbly as the message played. Rishid and Malik were in the hospital, but both were in stable condition. The voice continued, leaving a number where she could reach them or hospital staff.

"Gods…" she whispered to herself. She had just spoken to her brothers that very morning, and now this. She felt blindsided; even after all this time without the torq, she was still taken aback by how strongly the sense of bewilderment struck her. The necklace had afforded a powerful crutch, and she hadn't realized how heavily she sometimes leaned on it until she let it go. To go through life _not knowing_, being suddenly ambushed by events as they came to pass…it was a sensation she still grappled with.

The room fell once again into silence as the answering machine reached the end of the recorded message. Isis sat quietly for a moment before gathering her keys again. It was senseless to wonder what would have happened if she could have seen this coming; the only thing she could do was deal with the present. She left the house, locking the door resolutely behind her before hailing a cab.

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Rishid shifted his shoulder experimentally as he waited outside the room that held Malik. He didn't think his brother had been seriously injured, but there had been so much blood…it was hard to tell whose was whose. Just then the door opened, and a nurse acknowledged him with a small nod. "You may see him now, Lieutenant."

Stepping into the room, Rishid felt an ineffable relief at seeing his brother's eyes: the Creature was no longer in control. "Brother," he said quietly.

"Rishid!" Malik tried to sit up, but his motions were sluggish. "Sorry," he said, shifting awkwardly. "They gave me some sort of sedative…it's a little hard to move." A slow smirk crossed his face as he glanced down at his right arm. "Plus there's this." There was a faint clink as Malik revealed his arm handcuffed to the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Malik?"

The smirk fell away, and Malik looked down for a moment before looking up at his brother. "I'm…tired. My headache is almost gone, though…" He did sound tired, almost defeated. "What about you? Are you OK?"

"I'll be fine," he assured him, glancing at the bandaged shoulder. "Luckily it wasn't a serious injury."

"Yeah. Lucky," Malik said bitterly. "I…" He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Rishid," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

"Malik…" Rishid crossed the room quickly to pull his brother into a hug with his good arm. "It's alright, Malik…"

The younger Ishtar was quiet for a moment, clinging to Rishid's jacket before he spoke again. "What…what else did I do?"

Rishid's first instinct was to say, "Nothing." He had spent so much time protecting his brother from the Creature and the resulting aftermath. Not wanting to upset Malik, he generally tended to downplay the events when his brother came to again. But there was no avoiding what had happened this time. "People…were hurt, Malik."

Malik heard the hesitation in his brother's voice. "Badly hurt, I'm guessing." His voice sounded thick, as though he were fighting off tears.

"You'll have to talk to the police," Rishid said, sidestepping the comment. "But we'll get through this together, brother. I promise." Malik nodded, and Rishid squeezed his shoulder gently. "Don't be afraid, Malik."

"Malik?"

Both brothers turned to see Isis in the doorway. "Sister!" Malik exclaimed.

"Malik! Rishid! Oh, thank the gods…" She rushed forward, embracing each of her brothers in turn. "Are you hurt?" she asked anxiously, looking over Malik.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "It…was bad for a while…but I'm not hurt."

She nodded soberly. "How's your head?"

"They gave me something for the headache…it seems to be working."

"Good." She turned to Rishid, cerulean eyes concerned. "And you? I got a call saying you were both being treated here…"

Rishid nodded. "A minor shoulder injury – nothing to worry about," he said calmly, placing a reassuring hand on Isis's shoulder. "I'm sorry to have worried you – they made me turn my cell phone off for this wing of the hospital."

"I'm just glad you're both OK," Isis said, feeling better now that she had seen her brothers. She smiled toward Malik, who seemed to be feeling the effects of his sedative. "Perhaps we should let Malik get some rest, though…right, brother?"

Malik smiled a lopsided grin, eyes half closed already. "Yeah…sleep…you'll be here?"

"We'll be right outside," Rishid affirmed. "Get some rest, now."

As Malik closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, Rishid led Isis out into the hall. "Are you alright, sister?"

Isis nodded as the door closed. "I was scared when I got the phone call from the hospital," she whispered, "but it seems like you're both OK. For now, at least. Rishid…" she hesitated. "What exactly happened? Did Malik's other attack anyone?"

He nodded wordlessly, looking away. "More than one person, I think." He didn't want to tell her about the other murders. Not yet. And as far as the police were concerned it was still technically speculation at this point…nothing definitely linked Malik to the other girls… He frowned, considering for a moment. _I'll probably be pulled from the case…conflict of interest…_

"…Rishid?"

"Sorry," he apologized, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. "What were you saying?"

"What happens now?"

Rishid closed his eyes briefly, sighing. "I wish I knew for sure. I suppose Malik will have to talk to the police; we'll have to see what charges are brought against him. The courts will probably have to consider Malik's…mental state, too."

"Gods," Isis whispered, "I hate this." The sadness in her voice made Rishid's heart ache, and he wordlessly put an arm around her shoulders. They waited in silence, then, each lost in thought. Finally, Rishid spoke.

"We will get through this. Whatever the future brings, we'll get through it."

Isis nodded. "Yes," she said, sensing the truth in his words. "We will. Together."

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Holy mackerel. I think I'm done! (Unless anyone has any concrete suggestions for an epilogue : ) ) This is without a doubt the longest fic I've ever written – woot!! Thanks for coming along for the ride, guys : ) Review if ye want…


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